


Winner's Circle

by trilliath



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2016 World Cup of Hockey, A couple background hookups too, Casual Sex, M/M, Mostly Pwp, Oral Sex, Team Canada Shenanigans, This is pretty fluffy actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 16:11:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12346116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilliath/pseuds/trilliath
Summary: He is all too aware of the warmth of Sid's thigh pressed all along his own. Apparently he's not been hiding it well either - but everyone's always clustered around Sid. Always. He wonders if everyone doesn't fall a little in love with their captain on nights like these. He shrugs a little and tries for another sip of his beer."No really, and I'm saying don't be shy. He's a great choice." The air is thick with sweat and booze and old worn wood and vinyl. Tazer leans in on him, curling an arm around his neck and bringing his lips up to Steven's ear as he says, "He gives fucking great head."Steven only narrowly misses spitting his full mouthful of beer across the table.





	Winner's Circle

**Author's Note:**

> Standard Disclaimers: This story is a work of fiction inspired by the public personas of real hockey players. It is entirely a "what if in a parallel universe" and not in any way actual speculation about the persons named within. 
> 
> Yes I know this tournament happened over a year ago and I finished writing this months ago. I just felt weird posting it while Stammer was injured but now he's back and scored his first goal so... celebratory bjs?

"God, you two are fuckin _adorable_." 

Steven blinks, tearing his eyes away from a giggling, sweaty, drunk Sidney Crosby on his left and swiveling his head around to look at the man on his other side. Jonny's smile is as sharp and reckless as it has been the whole tournament - perhaps even more so now that they've won. There's a predatory light in his eyes and the way he keeps leaving his teeth bared.

When Steven scrunches his face in question, Tazer flicks his chin significantly over at Sid, lips still parted and the corner of his mouth twisted wry, eyes dark and intent and amused. 

Steven manages to resist another peek over at Sid and just looks back at Jonny, but he's fairly certain the amount he's also had to drink means his mouth is curving into a shy, embarrassed smile and his eyes are scrunching up as his chin drops. He is all too aware of the warmth of Sid's thigh pressed all along his own. Apparently he's not been hiding it well either - but everyone's always clustered around Sid. Always. He wonders if everyone doesn't fall a little in love with their captain on nights like these. He shrugs a little and tries for another sip of his beer.

"No really, and I'm saying don't be shy. He's a great choice." The air is thick with sweat and booze and old worn wood and vinyl. Tazer leans in on him, curling an arm around his neck and bringing his lips up to Steven's ear as he says, "He gives fucking great head."

Steven only narrowly misses spitting his full mouthful of beer across the table to where Marchy is delightedly recounting the final goal to a rapturous-looking Burns for about the dozenth time. As it is he ends up with beer down the front of his world cup championship teeshirt as he fumbles his bottle back to the table with a thump.

"Spit-take!" Patrice shouts, pointing at him and earning Steven some hoots and catcalls as he sheepishly mops at his mouth. 

"Especially after a Team Canada win." Jonny's still pressed flush against his side, still talking with his lips right on Steven's ear, the arm around his neck hard with lean muscle and apparent determination. "Not that it should be a surprise because he's fucking great at everything of course," Jonny adds under the din, easily, knowingly, like someone confident that the same could probably be said of him. He licks Steven's cheekbone.

"You're such a dick," he says to Jonny as he flinches, jostling Sid beside him and nearly bobbling what's left of his beer. Jonny, who just grins all raw-edged and filthy at him and loosens his hold enough for him to sit back and tug at his wet shirt.

A napkin appears in the corner of his vision, which earns Sid some derisive comments from the table at large for the sweetness, but he ignores them besides the wide helpless affection for the teasing attention from his teammates that curves his lips into that lopsided smile of his that he offers to Steven in something not unlike commiseration. 

Steven knows his face is red but smiles back fondly as he takes the mostly clean scrap of napkin to mop up his chest a little, even though it's mostly pointless considering how many layers of sweat and alcohol they're all wearing, but Sidney grins at him for it before turning his attention back to Shea to continue whatever they'd been discussing. He doesn't move away from how he's pressed against Steven from shoulder to ankle, not a millimeter.

"Fuckin' adorable," Tazer reiterates, grinning wolfishly. 

Steven elbows him, hard, which makes Jonny grunt and pull an expression that doesn't actually pass for a pout as he rubs at his breast where Steven's elbow had connected. Actually he mostly looks turned on, which… isn't really surprising, if he gives it any thought.

"I'm just saying. Welcome to the winner's circle," Toews tells Steven, chucking his knuckles at his jaw. Then he turns and facewashes Logan as he climbs over his lap and out of the booth, eyes set on some new object of torment. 

Steven laughs, shaking his head as he watches Jonny drag Claude off to go back to the makeshift dance floor. The lights are low and the music's heavy, if otherwise unintelligible through the chatter, but that's apparently sufficient for them. Steven retrieves what's left of his beer as Joe comes back to the table bearing a fresh platter of nachos and a bright-eyed server who's got a whole tray of drinks. 

"Shots for points!" Marchy shouts from across the table, pointing the server at him and Sid, then handing one to Burnsy, all of which results in some more back thumping while someone shouts after Pietrangelo and Sid grinning wildly at him as he clicks their glasses together and -

Well, things go pretty much like that for a while.

It's not exactly his scene, partying through the night, though it's familiar in the same way as all gatherings of hockey players are. Steven finds himself falling back on old habits, sitting back to soak it all in, to observe and be present for in much the same manner as at outings with his own guys that he feels obligated to attend as Captain, even if Steven himself might have wandered home much sooner. So he's comfortable here. Almost.

Because it's not just any party. It's his entrée into the Winner's Circle, as Jonny had put it.

As he sits and listens to Sid's recountings of the game, Jonny's other, more explicit words tumble around in his head. It's not like he didn't know that these sorts of things happened at international tournaments. He's heard things, of course he has. He's been through the crazy elation of winning at world juniors, and beyond too, so he gets it. But in his history of international play he'd always been a little too young to hang with the big guys, or it hadn't been the right kind of a win - or any win at all. Yeah he knows about it, but he's never really been on this side of things. 

So it's a little disconcerting to watch the heavy, obvious flirting - the way little sections of their team start disappearing together all around him. Some of it's guys who were together before time and again, all the way back to juniors, some of them are new guys, folded right into the mix. 

He's a new guy, but there he is, just watching. It's not that he doesn't want to join in or anything, it's just he's always been a bit shy. Even if he weren't still a bit fixated on Sid, he's just not really sure where he could fit, not for this. The guys he kindof knows are guys who are already in their little groups, or guys he's got too much history of a different kind with. He doesn't even know where to start and suddenly it seems like half of everyone's gone before he can even really formulate a thought about it.

He knows who he wants - _Tazer_ knows who Steven wants. But wanting someone, especially someone in as high demand as Sidney, isn't much of anything at all. The most he's managed is a seat next to him, quietly listening to him and the others talk, smiling with the stories, laughing with the jokes. And that's not bad - that's really pretty damned great. He's enjoying it, even if it does mean he's probably missing out on the game of sexual musical chairs that's happening. 

Only, it seems all too soon when Sid is finally done going over every high moment of the tournament (of which there are plenty) with Marchy and the rest of the table. He knows it's taken a while, they've been here for hours, but it still seems over far too quickly. 

"We should probably get back and let these guys close up." Which is just a suggestion, but Sid's wearing his captain face again when he says it and it signals a mass exodus of all the remaining players for Team Canada from the bar that'd been set up for their party. When he looks around it's to see the guys he's played with the most before internationally are mostly gone. Drew left early on and he's pretty sure Claude made off with their hideous plastic trophy about an hour ago and isn't coming back.

Steven trails along with the rest of them, not really slotted into any conversation, just basking in the glow of winning, the way the night is cool and crisp and there are still people roaming the streets decked in red and cheering at the sight of the remnants of the team though they're polite enough or it's late enough nobody tries to stop them for any autographs. It's good, because they're a bit of a mess. He's drunk to the point that everything is bright and soft and running together at the edges. He's not quite as messy as some of the others, but he does have to pay attention to his feet lest they start to stray.

Inside the hotel they laughingly cram themselves into one elevator car. Steven somehow ends up in a back corner braced tight against the wall - the handrail digging into his ass as he squeezes back to give people room. 

"We're gonna break this thing with all this Canadian BEEF!" someone hollers, and they laugh because it's probably not all that far from truth.

"Nobody jump," someone else says in their captain voice - he's not sure who. There's too many captains in the car. Or maybe just enough, since nobody does jump and jam them in a frozen elevator while someone else gets the right button pushed so they're heading up towards their floor. That or they're all sufficiently drunk and distracted to make practical mischief. He's pretty sure if there weren't cameras to be worried about, Marchy'd be making out with at least one person given the fight-or-fuck eyes he's making at Tazer or the way he's tucked snug against Brent's chest. Sid's giggling at something Patrice is murmuring while Getzy holds them both steady where they're balancing stuck in the middle of the car unable to lean on anything but other bodies in the overcrowded space.

The group fractures on their floor when they get out of the elevator. Joe and Getzy head towards the vending machines, laughing over some inside joke. Some of the guys he'd guess are strictly-heterosexual and/or monogamous now peel off into a couple groups, probably to go play the standing game of poker or just keep drinking. Sid and the others start heading up the other hall towards Tazer's room. Steven supposes he could maybe go with any of them, maybe nobody would bat an eye and wonder why he was there, but the buzz of alcohol in his system makes him feel wan and nostalgic and he's just not quite sure…

He decides that smiling fondly after them all and then going to sleep happy is better than potentially treading where he's not invited, so he just pauses long enough to exchange a few back slaps with the poker crowd and heads on towards his room. 

His path takes him past where Brent has his group held up so he can squash his fellow Shark Logan a little in farewell - Tazer, looking like some kind of big cat on the prowl, slowly backs an intent, hungry-looking Marchy up against the wall beside the door to the room he shares with Sid. Sid's watching the two of them with pink cheeks as he absently exchanges a hug with a passing Bergy and thanks him again for their successes in terrible but comfortable french. 

Well. He supposes it's only fair the game winners get the captain's attention tonight.

Steven slips past them with a vague wave since nobody's really paying him any attention, heading further along to where he's sleeping and trying not to feel foolishly disappointed over a silly little hope he'd not even really allowed himself to consider. And he only has himself to blame if he's disappointed he's going to bed now alone.

He's distracted enough by feeling sorry for himself that when he gets to his door for a moment it doesn't even register that Sid's voice is calling after him with, "Hey, Stammer, hey wait a sec!" 

Steven turns back to see Bergy and Logan are now heading off the other way as Brent dawdles over actually getting the door open, too busy watching Jonny stare down Brad. Sid, on the other hand, is jogging away up the hall towards him. His eyes are bright as he approaches and Steven feels about as stupidly like a teenager as he had actually been the last time he'd been on a team winning like this.

"Oh, sure," he says, sounding awkward to his own ears; too late to be natural but too early to make sense since there's still a big gap of hallway between them. He's also pretty sure he's smiling in a way he can't help but is certain looks dorky.

Motion behind Sid's back draws his eye and Steven notices as Toews looks over to watch them, then starts making an obscene gesture referencing their earlier conversation - which prompts Marchy and Brent to immediately join in in similar fashion. Steven laughs quietly at them, but then Sid's right there, coming to hug him in a way that's halfway to a collision, his stubble scraping against Steven's as their heads slot past each other in the embrace that's not abnormally close by drunken hockey standards, but still has him all too aware of Sid's bare skin nonetheless.

"Hey," Sid says, leaning back but not slipping out of the embrace. His hand is hot on the back of Steven's neck and his eyes bright and a little glassy with drink, earnest and happy as he continues, "I just, I'm so glad you got to play. You've been so great, so dependable this whole tournament."

"Thanks," Steven says, smiling back, feeling flushed and young. "It's been a great time. And I should be thanking you, MVP. You're a great captain."

Sid brushes off the compliment, nose wrinkled as he grins and shakes his head, squeezing Steven's neck a little. "No man, team effort. I don't want you to think I didn't notice how hard you've been working, how much the pressure you put on them in your shift opened up the next one for us. And that goal you got-"

"Was garbage, Sid," he says, laughing in good humor, too pleased by the attention not to be. "Pure muffin."

"Okay maybe but you're _here_ , with Team Canada and me, and you scored your goal where it counted," Sid insists, sighing happily as his free hand pats Steven's chest, lingers there. Really lingers, fingers slowly spreading out and pressing into the muscle through the thin tee.

It occurs to Steven, belatedly, that maybe, just maybe, Sid's been sticking by his side by choice tonight just as much as Steven's been orbiting his captain. That maybe his night isn't over yet, if he doesn't want it to be. The thought has him settling a tentative hand at the small of Sid's back and smiling even more when Sid leans into it.

"Yeah. We did pretty good huh?" He'd been pretty pleased with it after all.

Sid's brows twitch and his lips quirk as he says, "Well of fucking course we did. We're Team Canada. It's just, it's great, that I finally got to have _you_ on _my_ team."

Steven can't help the shiver at the possessive little thread in Sid's voice, the way it's a little low and raspy from all the shouting they've been doing that night. They're almost exactly the same height, their faces perfectly aligned across from each other and maybe it's Tazer's suggestion, maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe he just feels up enough in the world right now to risk it, but whatever it is he gives into the impulse to kiss him.

Soft, and quick. Lips loose enough and moist enough that it's really not at all innocent but it's still short enough that if Sid wants to, he can just brush it off as a friendly smack. 

Sid's surprised, but his face splits with a delighted grin as his eyes dart over Steven's face, taking him in, reading the ice.

"Yeah?" he asks, leaning into Steven a little more, lips soft and parted over a smile that's drifting towards intent.

"If you'd like," he offers, still feeling shy but in the bubbling champagne sort of way, smiling at him. He's probably blushing, he knows it, the curse of his complexion.

Sid kisses him decisively, a long, firm press of just thick lips against Steven's noticeably thinner ones, humming happily low in his chest. Then he opens his mouth and Steven follows his lead easily into testing little give and take of tongue, angling his head so their noses slot together and then their jaws, tongues searching long and deep as they lean into each other's bodies.

"That's so fucking hot," Jonny says flatly from up the hall, then laughs in a way that's so filthy and delighted it makes Steven want to laugh too. Not that he's going to stop kissing Sid to do so.

Sid breaks away from his mouth anyway, laughing himself as he twists in Steven's arms and extends a middle finger to their audience. His other hand has made its way firmly down to Steven's ass.

"You're not fucking invited, Jonny, fuck off," Sid says, though the grin is clear in his voice.

Marchy flips them off in return with both hands like it's a reflex, chin up at them as he bumps into Brent behind him, who steadies him obligingly, still all gap-toothed and agrin. 

"Oh fuck you both, this is the thanks I get?" Jonny replies, scoffing with equal humor. "Well you're fucking welcome, ungrateful dicks. Go have fun I guess."

Sid's not been palming Steven's ass just for fun, he realizes, because somehow in the next few seconds, Sid's got his keycard from him and has gotten Steven's hotel room door open and the both of them hauled inside and then is kicking it shut behind them, shoving Steven up against the wall and getting right back to where he'd been, plundering his mouth.

Sidney's so solid against him, his weight pressing Steven tight from chest to knees. He has to fight the urge to buckle under him, to just give completely over to the commanding way Sidney's taken charge of him once given the green light. 

When Sid pulls away, he scrapes his fingers along Steven's jaw, dragging them through the coarse hair of his beard. His face rumples in a good-natured scowl. "I hate how you're younger than me and still your beard is so much fucking better than anything I can grow," he mutters in that creaky register of his voice that Steven is embarrassed to find so attractive.

Steven's pleased with the compliment, since it'd taken him a while to settle on the right combination of haircuts and beard to get to where he looks both mature and youthful, and he likes where he's at a lot. It's even nicer that Sid's noticed, that Sid envies him anything.

"I don't know," Steven says, touching his fingertips to Sidney's lightly-stubbled jawline. "I think you pull this off very well."

Sid hums, eyes still lingering on Steven's beard a moment, then pulls away, one hand fisted in Steven's shirt to tug him along after as he heads further into the room.

"If you have no objections, I want you on a bed," Sid says, tone back to something not unlike when he's talking plays on the bench; steady, intent, and goal-oriented.

"However, however you want me," he replies, still feeling bubbly and a little breathless. He hadn't even wanted to admit to himself that he'd been secretly, longingly hoping for something like this the whole tournament. "Captain's choice, eh?"

That draws Sid up short though, has him yanking his hand away from Steven's chest as though burned, motion made more hyperbolic by the alcohol.

"No. _Not_ that. Jesus, Stammer you don't owe me _shit_ ," Sid says, looking absolutely horrified as he rounds on him.

Steven grimaces at himself, nudges in closer to Sidney again and cups his hand along his neck. "Of course not like _that_ ," he says firmly. He gets that. He's been a captain long enough to know just how awful that concept feels. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be and I'm." His face feels hot, but he pushes past the urge to be tentative and leans into Sid's body with his own, lets his obvious arousal be felt against Sidney's hip. "I'm very, very happy to be here."

He'd just also be happy to let Sid take charge, to not have to be the one to orchestrate anything. To not be the captain at all for a while the way he hasn't had to be this whole tournament. Maybe he shouldn't want that, maybe he's supposed to be the sort of captain who'd never cede the controls, but he isn't. He wants to give it up to Sid. Steven doesn't say so, though, because it might send the wrong message now. If Sid worries about things like that it could - and he would, of course he would. It's no secret what sort of man Sid is. Steven stands tall, no matter how much he might want to surrender - makes sure his own independent strength shows through a little longer yet.

Sid eyes him warily for a moment more, then kisses him again, longer and deeper and _fuck_ but he's good at that. Steven can't help rocking his hips into him a little, needing at least a little friction to play counterpoint to the excitement knifing through his body with every slick pass of tongue and lips over his own.

Sid's fingers slip down the back of his jeans, groping his ass a second, then moving back up again to slide under his shirt. Sid's ability to multitask while intoxicated is dizzying, because his other hand is deftly undoing the front of Steven's jeans, while Steven himself barely has the wherewithal to keep his arms around Sid and stroking while they make out. 

His tee gets worked up his body, Sid not relinquishing his mouth until it's time to tug it over his head, for which Steven obligingly lifts his arms. Sid does pull back then to look at him, eyes dark as they trace over his body, the pale body-hair and muscles honed by the sport they both love. Sid's fingers trail slow down his chest, palm shifting to scrape over one of his nipples.

Steven ducks his chin, sucking in a tight breath as Sid's hand dips lower, down through the hair at his groin and into his undone pants, palming his dick through his underwear. He's not splitting his seams or anything, but it'd be hard to miss his arousal. He leans into the touch and Sid's strong, broad hand pushes back.

It's still surreal, that this is Sid with his hand down Steven's pants. His face is so close, so intent as he watches himself touch Steven, his lips falling a little slack in a bow that's distractingly perfect. He lingers a moment before briefly flicking his slightly-glassy eyes up to Steven's face like he's checking in. When Steven reaches out and touches him in return, palming his hip and then sliding down closer to his groin, Sid sucks in a tight breath through his nose and just holds his gaze, almost painfully direct and arousingly intimate.

After just a moment of that Sid bites his lip and then works his fingers up a little, slides them in under the waistband and gropes down to hot bare skin, just fondling Steven till Steven's losing coordination and has got his fists curling up at his sides, weight shifting onto the balls of his feet as he pushes up into it on reflex.

With an impatient sound, Sid lets go of him and steps back to haul his jacket's zipper down. Feeling a little impatient himself, Steven toes out of his shoes and gets his remaining clothes off as best he can without tearing his eyes off the sight of Sidney stripping his Team Canada tracksuit off in brutally efficient motions.

"How do you want me?" he asks tentatively, hating that he still feels overbold in asking even such a simple question, but he can't control the fact that having Sid like this, like he's wanted him, makes him nervous.

Sid shakes his head slowly, eyes still stuck roaming Steven's body. "How _don't_ I want you," he mutters, but then he takes Steven by the hips and guides him backwards, nudges him towards the bed till Steven takes the hint and climbs on, slides back to where there's space for Sid too.

Sid climbs up after him, climbs right between his thighs and leans over him, presses him down into the bed and takes his mouth again, every inch the captain. There's nothing considering or exploratory about this kiss. This time Sid's kissing like he can fuck him with his tongue. He can still taste alcohol in his mouth and he feels drunk off it even though it's just the merest hint now.

Steven opens himself to it, clings Sidney closer to him and wraps his limbs around him. He feels breathless and starting to go hot at all the points where they're touching. Sid's dick is bumping against the bottom of his ass, and then with a shift of hips, slotting in next to his own. Sid grinds against him, just rolls his body in these long, slow pushes that scatter sensation through him. He moves with the confidence of serious experience or maybe just amplified by the help of some dutch courage, but either way, it's commanding and effective.

Steven does his best to emulate it. When he drags his nails a little roughly along Sid's scalp, he gets a moan that ends in Sidney panting against his mouth before pulling back, propping himself up on his elbows. Sid bites at his lip, then slides himself down on the bed and without warning, without any sign of hesitation, gets his mouth on Steven's dick.

He'd probably be embarrassed by the sound he makes if he weren't too busy staring and being stunned by how quickly Sid's swallowing him down. But Sid's lashes are dark crescents on his high cheekbones, eyes closed as he presses those thick lips of his further and further down and hums like he fucking loves it.

If he could muster the coherency to think about it, he'd maybe expect more coordination of himself, given that it's what he does for a living, but something about this night, this man, everything, has him fumbling for any shred of his sensibilities. Steven at least manages to keep his fingers massaging Sid's scalp, scratching in a slow rhythm in counterpoint to his head's motions. 

Sid leans into the touch, leans his whole body into Steven, broad, muscled shoulder wedged into his thigh and hands clutched hard around his hip, his thigh, sliding up along his ribs. Sid's prominent nose drags against the pale hair on Steven's abdomen and then he rocks his head, angles it back, opens his throat and pushes till his lips can go no further, eyes flick up the sprawl of Steven's body to look at his face.

Steven feels desperate, his face tingling and too tight for his skull. He pants short little breaths between parted lips and stares, does his best to memorize every detail of this moment.

Sid's throat convulses around him and Steven makes a faint sound that should probably be called a whimper, then Sid pulls back, blinking a little against his body's reflexive production of tears. His grin is wry and a little chagrinned as he pulls off and clears his throat, eyes bright.

"I guess it's been a while," he murmurs, voice crackled at the edges of his syllables the way it gets after he's been shouting half a game - which, he's definitely done his fair share of that tonight. They both have.

"I've never…" Steven hears himself say, and then closes his mouth, mortified. It might have been a while for Sid, but clearly he's got enough experience with this to make that actually a factor.

Sid's brows go up, his thick lips pushing together as he sits back a little. His head cocks, that slightly off-center way it has ever since his jaw had been shattered and reforged.

"Like at all?"

Steven shakes his head shortly, pushes himself up a little against the headboard, feeling absurdly young and inexperienced though he's really neither. 

"No I have. I've been with people. Guys too," he adds, sensing Sid's question in the wrinkle that starts to form between his brows. Not that he's been with a _lot_ of people. "Just, I've never gotten to," he gestures at his mouth, "suck someone off. People seem to…"

He doesn't know how to explain it, but Sid seems to get it anyway. Sid's brows twitch up as he heaves a sigh and his snort is commiserating. "Tell me about it. The number of times I've hear someone say "You're Sidney Crosby, you shouldn't be sucking _my_ dick"…"

Steven laughs with him, but he can't help tracing Sidney's lips with his eyes. He bites his lip, then says, "But you like it?" 

Sid's grin is knife-edged. "Oh yeah, for sure."

Steven feels too hot, and his dick is wet and throbbing where it stands between them. He laughs at himself and then says, "Well. You are Sidney Crosby. I think you should suck any dick you want to."

"Yeah? Good," Sid laughs and leans up again, climbs up his body and kisses him, hard and wet and deep before repositioning himself between Steven's thighs and getting right back to it. 

If he's at all rusty now, it's lost on Steven. Sid sucks him down hard and fast, alternating suction and slick passes of hot flesh. Steven finds himself reaching back to grab onto the headboard behind him just so he has something to brace against. In response, Sid uses his knuckles to nudge up behind Steven's balls, pressing in against his perineum.

"Oh god," Steven breathes, clutching at Sid's shoulder with his other hand. He's panting soon, fingers dragging warm and just a little sweaty against the thick muscle of Sid's shoulder, the smooth skin pressed against him.

His thighs are shaking in a way he'd be embarrassed by if Sid weren't so fucking _into_ this, if he weren't humming and moaning around Steven's dick like this is his just-dessert for proving once again that he's the best hockey player for the best country in the world.

"Sid," he manages, and Sidney's eyes flash open, dark and alert and focused up on his face. They're curved at the corners, like he's loving this, loving seeing Steven falling apart above him. He doesn't pull off, just tightens his lips over one deep long slide and squirms his tongue against the underside of the head of Steven's cock and that's it, that's all he can take.

His body goes tense and the headboard creaks behind him where it's bolted to the wall. He huffs out a guttural breath as his core locks up and his hips push up, just a little, driving further into the welcoming heat of Sid's mouth as he trips over the edge.

Sid's tongue is slow, lascivious in its drag along his throbbing head as he swallows back Steven's come, suckling him through the pulses of his orgasm. It slowly tips over into that aching, post-orgasm oversensitivity and Steven's panting again, torn between begging Sid to never stop and to please put him out of his misery. 

Thankfully, Sid makes the decision for him, eventually, smirking as Steven flinches as his softening cock slips from Sid's tongue.

"Thanks," Sid says, and Steven laughs, breathless, helpless, sliding a palm over his own face, pressing against his hot cheeks and tender lips.

When he's caught his breath a little he sits up a bit, shifts his hips and savors the residual sensations echoing through his body as he moves towards Sid, who is patiently waiting for him, thick thighs spread and feet tucked under his ass. His dick is flushed with how hard he is, tip laying against the sheets beneath him. The amusement on his face has faded back towards desire again, and Steven feels breathless.

"May I? Suck you off?" Steven says before he loses his nerve, lifting his eyes from Sid's dick to his face and smiling hopefully, and a little wryly.

Amusement comes back fast. Sid's nose wrinkles along with the rest of his face as he giggles, shoulders rocking back as he shifts away and kicks the sheets down further off the bed. His motions are precise and purposeful as he reaches past Steven to grab one of the pillows and tosses it on the floor beside the bed, then another one for good measure before he moves his body in an unconsciously-sinuous weave to sit on the edge of the mattress. There situated, Sid spreads his thighs and gestures with his chin towards the ground with quiet authority. If Steven hadn't just come a minute ago…

Sid watches him with hungry and yet patient eyes as Steven pushes himself up, gets down on the ground between Sid's calves. His feet press in alongside Steven's thighs as he settles and Steven can't help but press back against them. They're as muscular and vascular and beautifully articulated as the rest of his body and Steven wants to touch them but he's sober enough to think that might be weird. 

Sidney runs an affectionate, approving palm over Steven's head, through his hair, then leans back on his hands on the bed and says, "It's easier to get started from this angle. Take your time warming up, do whatever feels comfortable. I'll tell you if you do something I don't like, okay?"

Steven swallows back the urge to thank his captain because he doesn't want to see Sid's face get pinched over it again, but fuck does he want to slump into Sid's grasp and take direction. He follows Sid's suggestion, leaning in and getting his face close to Sid's dick. It's easy to lose himself into focusing on the moment, the goal. Of course it is, when it's right there in front of him and waiting. He touches with his lips, his cheeks, his nose and bearded chin as he nuzzles in until he feels confident enough to open his mouth and taste.

He doesn't feel coordinated enough tonight to use both of his hands, and he feels steadier when he curls one palm around Sidney's ankle, feels grounded touching the sturdy muscle and tendon and bone covered in warm skin and dark hair. He uses his other hand just to hold Sid's dick still, so he can feel his head in relation to his hand and know where it's going.

It can't be anything as good as what Sid had done for him as he mouths awkwardly at the head of Sid's cock, tongue exploring foreskin and the bitter pre-come underneath, but Sid doesn't seem to mind. When Steven chances a glance up, Sid's face is serious and intent as he watches. His body is not quite tense, exactly, but it's centered on him, on what Steven's doing for him. Sid's eerily beautiful, focused like that, like he gets on the ice, and having all of Sidney Crosby's attention is a powerful thing. He's not a teenager, he's not going to get hard again quite so soon, but he feels a responding warmth low in his groin.

Slowly he advances, gets his mouth wrapped all the way around Sid's cock so it's not like he's just licking at the head but really swallowing some of him down. He moves his head up and down so he can drag Sid's length along his tongue and Sidney sighs, slow and in what seems like appreciation.

After a few passes that go smoothly, he starts moving his hand curled around the base of Sid's dick in tandem with his mouth, squeezing the way he likes to be gripped, spreading his saliva all down Sid's length until his skin is slick and the motion of Steven's hand and mouth is audible in the quiet room.

He finds a rhythm, bumps against the back of his tongue where his throat wants to close up and gag a couple times, and he has to pause a couple times to get his breathing right with the motion of his hand and his head, but he gets a feel for his limits and carefully doesn't push it too hard. 

He's tempted to go deeper, to challenge himself, of course he is. He wouldn't be the person he is without that competitive spirit, that drive, but he also knows he doesn't want to remember this for his mistakes. Not tonight. Not with Sid. Tonight doesn't want to risk messing it up by going too far, so he just concentrates on finding a depth that's comfortable and working it till it's good.

It's not the easiest thing he's ever done but neither is it too difficult for him to enjoy once he gets going, and Steven hums a little as it starts to get smooth and he gets to pay more attention to how it feels than to trying to get it right. Slowly, carefully he picks up his pace. 

"Good," Sid says softly and Steven finds himself desperately wishing that this weren't the sort of thing that stays behind on the international stage when it's over. He knows he can't take it back to Florida with him - both logistically and mentally, really - but _fuck_ if Sid's approval isn't a jolt of pure, untempered pleasure to experience.

And if wishes were horses… 

It is, perhaps, fitting that by the time he feels he's got the hang of it his tongue starts to feel tired from being so tense. When he tries to relax it, he mistakes the depth a little, chokes a little on the next pass. He definitely can't keep up his pace; the harder he tries the more he has to fight with his breathing, trying to regain his smoothness and trying not to let embarrassment contribute to the problem. He's not sure he's succeeding. 

Sid takes a shaky breath and picks up a hand to drag through Steven's hair, saying, "Hey," softly. 

He doesn't think he's doing too badly, and he doesn't want to give up, not really. But Sid only lets him suck him down for a few more bobs of his head before he tightens his grip and lifts Steven's head back, tilts his face up. He reaches down and shifts the hand Steven has on his dick to move lower, to cup around his balls and give them a squeeze with their joined hands before returning his own hand to his dick.

"That's good. Just, stay right there for me," Sid murmurs, taking himself in hand as Steven obeys, catching his breath a little as he clings to Sid's leg.

Sid's lips are pursed tight, his nostrils flaring, and he sits up a little and cradles his other hand along Steven's jaw, holds him firm and steady while his other hand jerks along his cock, the tip just brushing against Steven's soft-held mouth. 

Sid's quiet, breath steady and even and if it weren't for the flush on his cheeks and throat and the way his eyes have more or less stopped flitting over Steven's features and are now fixed on his parted lips, Steven wouldn't even know he's close. His hand moves fast and short, tight on the tip of his cock and twisting like a filthy wrist shot until without warning Steven feels him start to come, hot, thick and wet over his tongue and lips.

He licks at it, at the tip of Sid's cock throbbing against his lips and revels in the shiver it sends through Sidney's body, the way his eyelids flutter as he pushes back against him. It's bitter and sticky but Steven licks it away, swallows up the evidence of Sidney's pleasure and feels nothing but appreciation for the experience of it.

Sid glides the tip of his spent cock along Steven's tongue a couple times, a tight, pleased little smile curving over his lips as he finally pulls back, and Steven leans his temple against Sidney's thigh and just looks at him. He doesn't want this to be over but it is, so he draws his hands away and then smiles up at Sid as he leans back.

"Thanks," he says, going for a little tongue-in-cheek.

It seems to land right because Sid laughs but cocks his head and angles his mouth sharply. He's a little smug, a little brightly haughty in a way he rarely lets other people see him be. He's magnanimous as he says, "You're welcome."

But he softens, almost immediately. His thumb smooths over Steven's chin, coming away wet, which he wipes off on the sheet before bringing his hand back to stroke softly through Steven's hair again. It's warm and soothing and Steven closes his eyes briefly, feels the tug of post-orgasm, post-win, post-everything exhaustion.

"Tired?" Sidney asks softly. 

Steven nods, makes himself open his eyes and slip back from where he's still kneeling between Sid's legs. His thighs are a little stiff from kneeling like this after weeks of intense skating, but nothing much, nothing a hot shower and his bed at home won't cure. It's not like he has far to go for that, being here in Toronto.

"Yeah, me too," Sid says, hiding a yawn behind his square of a palm. "Hey, you mind if I stay here?"

Steven laughs a little as he kicks his discarded clothing towards his bags. "Sure. Seems like your room's a bit… already in use, eh?"

Sid's nose wrinkles as he laughs. "Oh, yeah, that's not even really in question, for sure. Who's your…" Sid gestures with his chin at the other bed.

"Claude," Steven says, and Sid's face is hilarious as he eyes the door warily like Giroux might spring in on them at any moment, but Steven glances around the room and adds, "His things are gone, though. I'm pretty sure he's already left for good."

Sid glances at the room too and he snorts, relaxes a little at that. "He does that. He's such a dick. In Prague we spent two hours trying to find him once when we thought we'd lost him, till he answered his damned phone and let us know he was halfway to Germany with old teammates from the lockout."

Steven smiles softly. Now he gets to have his own story about the time he won a tournament and Giroux stole the trophy and disappeared, while he went back to his room with Sid. When… _if_ there's a next time he'll be a veteran of the winner's circle.

"Shower?" he offers, because it's polite even if he's not terribly interested in rinsing away the night just yet, looking at the pretty picture Sid makes, lounging naked and satiated amidst the rumpled sheets of his bed. 

Sid yawns again and shakes his head, pushing back from the edge of the bed towards the middle and then twisting to retrieve some of the pillows as he lays down. His motions are loose and a little fumbling now that the edge of arousal and goal-focused attention has slipped away. It takes him two tries to get one of the pillows up and then he slides over and drops his head into the cushion with a contented sigh, his back beautiful and still a little tan from summer, muscles flexing a little as he pats the space beside him with his palm.

Steven fetches them some water, then turns out the lights and climbs in beside Sid, in the warm, open space that's been left for him in the dark. His chest feels a little tight, like there's something else to say, even though he doesn't know what. Something appreciative or like, grateful. He's a little afraid whatever it is it'll just sound like some hero worshiping drivel. 

He doesn't say anything, just lets himself settle into the pillow beside Sid, lets the man wrap a strong arm around his waist and shift till their sides are fitted together comfortably - as comfortably as two men as broad in the shoulder as they are can fit, anyway. Steven gazes at Sid in the dark, his face shadowed but for where his eyes catch just the barest hints of the low light peeking in from the city lights beyond the window. Sid's lips brush over his shoulder, his jaw, then his eyes are closed and his head is relaxed back on his pillow.

Smiling, contented, Steven does the same.


End file.
